The eminent cartoonist who was suffering from severe heath related issues, passed away at 94

RK Laxman, creator of the iconic The Common Man, died in a private hospital here Monday evening after a brief illness, his family said. Laxman, brother of late novelist R.K. Narayan, is survived by writer wife Kamala, retired journalist son Srinivas and daughter-in-law Usha. He was renowned for his cartoon creation, which ran for several decades in The Times of India. He had been admitted to a private hospital around 10 days ago for a urinary tract infection and lung problems, where he breathed his last at 6.10 p.m, Srinivas.

As there was no improvement in his condition, he was shifted to the Dinanath Mangeshkar Hospital here and put on a ventilator last Sunday (Jan 18). Laxman had suffered multiple organs failure, but responded well to the treatment and bounced back. Three days later, he was removed off the ventilator and shifted to the intensive care unit.

“He was first admitted to a hospital nearby Jan 16, but his condition showed no improvement. Later, we moved him to Dinanath Mangeshkar Hospital where he showed a miraculous recovery,” said Srinivas. He added that Laxman’s 89-year old wife Kamala took the news of her husband’s demise stoically. ”The past 10 days have been extremely unnerving… the uncertainties of his health was a concern for the entire family,” he said.

The date and venue of Laxman’s funeral have not yet been finalized and will be announced in due course, he added.

A lesser known fact has finally come out in the open

Satyajit Ray had first thought of adapting R K Narayan’s Guide into a film with Waheeda Rehman in the lead but destiny had other ideas as Vijay Anand went on to make the movie, considered to be among the classics, says a new book on the veteran actor. Noted documentary maker and film writer Nasreen Munni Kabir’s “Conversations with Waheeda Rehman” provides a rare view of the much-adored and award-winning actor of Indian cinema.

In this engaging book of conversations, culled from interviews conducted in 2012-13 by Kabir, Rehman proves to be a lively raconteur, speaking about her life and work, humour and insight: from the devastating loss of her parents when she was young to making a life in cinema on her own terms.

She also gives insightful accounts of working with extraordinary film practitioners like Guru Dutt, Raj Khosla, Ray, Raj Kapoor, Dev Anand and Vijay Anand to her friendship with stars like Nargis and Nanda.

On her alleged affair with Dutt, Rehman only says, “I know we are public figures, but I strongly believe my private life should remain private. What ultimately matters and concerns the world is the work we left behind.”

She married actor Kamaljeet Rekhy and has two children. “It was Mr Ray who asked me to read the novel (R K Narayan’s ‘Guide’) because he was considering adapting it. He told me if the film ever took off, he would cast me as Rosie.

“She had to be a good dancer and he knew south Indians were usually good dancers, and so he had thought of me,” recalls Rehman about what would possibly have been a totally different approach to the novel had Ray been its director.

But Rehman had almost forgotten about it when a year or two later Dev told her that he was producing the film. When she asked wasn’t Ray making it, Dev replied, “No, no, I know about that. I have bought the rights of the book.”

According to Rehman, Ray would have conceived the film in a completely different way. “But I believe I was fated to play Rosie, no matter who was going to direct the film. Many actresses were keen to play Rosie, including Padmini and Leela Naidu. They sent me letters saying I should let them know if for any reason I did not accept the part,” the 76-year-old actress, born in Chengalpattu, formerly known as Chingleput, a southwestern suburb of Chennai, says.

Rehman says Ray’s wife always wanted her to encourage him to make films in Hindi. “When I spoke to him about it, he said: ‘Someday I want to, but then you have all those lengthy songs and dances and all that.’ I think he was reluctant to make a film in Hindi because he did not know Hindi well and believed that was essential. ‘One thing is certain – if I make a Hindi movie, I will cast you.’

“Many years later when he was making Shatranj Ke Khilari, he called me and said: ‘Waheeda, I promised to cast you, but I don’t feel the role in this film will suit you’,” she recalls in the book, published by Penguin.

Rehman acted in only one film directed by Ray ? Abhijan, where she played Gulaabi and spoke in a mix of Bhojpuri and Bengali. Rehman has high regards for Ray. “Ray Saab was meticulous and explained everything in great detail. He sketched every scene and made detailed shot breakdowns, even noting the lens he planned to use. His storyboarding was extremely helpful. In those days no one had heard of storyboarding. He was also one of the few directors who gave me a bound script.”

He may be ‘India’s best known sound designer and audiographer’, as the book jacket says, but Resul Pookutty sounds just like a lad from a small village set deep into the backwaters of Kerala. It could be straight out of Swami and Friends, or Malgudi Days, that RK Narayan classic made for television. The way he tells it (in translation by KK Muralidharan), life was a bucolic existence, full of masti and replete with good things to eat and scoldings — and more — from Umma, Pookutty’s mother.

Though he says how tough life was as a freelance sound engineer in Mumbai, it is almost an in-passing observation, with the story skating neatly over the nasty bits and dwelling, instead, on feelings. Which is all good, since he is articulate and honest (or so one thinks as one reads) and heartfelt.

Even as he tells the story of his career, which is why he is known at all beyond his own family-friends clique, Pookutty tells a far more interesting and important story.

He talks about his parents, especially his relationship with his mother, Umma, Alikkunju Nabizabeebi, and his father, Pazhaya Theruvil Thambikkunju Pookutty, or Bappa, whose general attitude was that “nothing really belonged to anyone”, with great fondness but some distance. And even as he worked passionately involvedly on “creating sublime sounds for a film”, he found that a career in Malayalam movies was close to impossible. This was in 1995, when he was just finishing up his studies at the Film and Television Institute in Pune. “Those were threshold times for me,” Pookutty says, and he “needed to figure out his next course of action”. He decided that he would finish his law course and move back home, setting up a practice there, where he could “also help out Umma and Bappa”. He would also do the IAS exam, since he was still young enough.

Academy Award

And life, as usual, had something different in store for the man who would, some years later, triumphantly carry home the Academy Award for his work on Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire. But by then it was a different home, one where neither Umma nor Bappa could share in his excitement; they had died about six years earlier. The grief that Pookutty feels is touching, palpable, identifiable, eliciting a sniffle or two even from a cynical reader. It is something we all go through, anyone who has lost a loved one to death.

Pookutty too went through a time when “I couldn’t personally or emotionally get close to anyone … I would end up losing them.” And he found that “Acknowledging the permanent departure of Umma and Bappa from my life was impossible … This sudden realisation of one’s immense loneliness is not something words can communicate.” This feeling of pain and loss was exacerbated by a knee injury that gradually developed into everything from suspected tuberculosis to rheumatoid arthritis, eventually cured by a judicious ayurvedic course of treatment and a change of lifestyle. In that story, you learn about the rigours of being a sound designer, engineer and controller, a job that is not limited to the sanitised — albeit un-airconditioned — confines of a studio, but one that is all about stress, physical exertion and very little rest on a film set.

But a more cheerful note is sung soon after this sad song with Pookutty’s love story. There are hilarious vignettes about the various girls he fell in love with in school and college – each for a special reason, be it food, figure or flirtation. And it went on until he was finally convinced that marriage was a must.

The process of looking for the right person to marry, meeting them – with various members of both families present, of course — and then deciding was not a novelty, everyone did it. So the sound master did too.

There were many misses, in more ways than the literal, with nobody ringing Resul’s bell in just the right tone. Finally, he meets Shadia and, over many months of wanting, not wanting, sure, not sure, with many secret phone calls, emails, texts and a meeting or two thrown in, the wedding was decided on. And she, the new Mrs Pookutty, had to learn a lot about life with her husband in the big city that is Mumbai. Of course, the book talks extensively about Pookutty’s work — from interactions with Amitabh Bachchan using sync sound in Boom to working on the multi-award-winning Slumdog Millionaire. But all that is expected of a man who has changed the way people talk, orchestras play, cars honk and feet tread in the movies today. After all, that is his job. Resul Pookutty is far more than all sound and fury — he signifies a great deal more, all of which is so delightfully depicted in his autobiography.